


How You Handle Your Dead

by SnowTiefling



Series: Abrams [3]
Category: Shadowrun
Genre: Bear - Freeform, Gen, Shaman - Freeform, crazy clarence's clearance crematorium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 15:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20603009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowTiefling/pseuds/SnowTiefling
Summary: another writing prompt based work from my old table top game. Abram's takes the body of a fallen runner to be taken care of.





	How You Handle Your Dead

“You paying for him then?” The dwarf asked, putting out his cigar and looking up at Abrams through the dirty glass partition. Abrams nodded and slid a cred stick into the drop box next to the window. The dwarf took it and slotted it, nodding and withdrawing the funds, passing it back through. “Are you the only one with him, then? No family?”

“Just me. He didn’t have any family.” Abrams said, bowing his head, stooping to keep his horns from scraping the low ceiling. Low, at least, to the almost 9 foot tall troll. The dwarf behind the window nodded “Bring him around back, I’ll let you in. We’ll take care of him proper.”

Abrams nodded and reached down, gingerly picking up the long black bag that held the body of his friend. The elf was light, slim of frame, and naked. He carried the bag around back, and walked into the chapel area of Crazy Clarence’s Clearance Crematorium (motto: You Mourn’em We Burn’em). The dwarf motioned him over and helped him lay his friend on the table. “You know what god or gods he kept dear?”

“As far as I know he was a shaman, followed Bear.” Abrams said sadly, pulling a thin leather cord from his pocket and putting it around the neck of the dead elf. The cord had his friends arcane paraphernalia, a leather pouch with herbs and rocks, and 2 bear teeth. Abrams grimaced, sure that some the bear teeth at least were fake. But he wasn’t a finger wiggling shaman, so what did he know? The dwarf walked to a cupboard and pulled out a few plastic urns in the shape of bears and bear totems. “You paid for it, you get to pick the urn. If none of these work you can get a plain one.” The dwarf motioned over to the wall, where a series of plain colored urns rested. “Do you want me to say a few words before we take care of him? Or do you?”

Abrams let out a long sigh. “I will.” And so he did. He didn’t know the elfs real name, he knew he was an orphan, and not well liked by some of the other people he ran with (he left that part out), instead he focused on the elfs rough laugh, the way he tended to the wounded, the way he honored his spirits. As he spoke, he thought he could feel the hot breath of a massive furry animal on his neck, but he was sure he was just imagining it. He finished. Clarence nodded his head and together they put the body on the conveyor belt. The machine hummed to life, and moments later Clarence was scooping his friends ashes into an urn shaped like a blue bear with a heart on its white stomach. “Take care of him now, he’s yours.” Abrams nodded, and thanked the discreet dwarf, and walked into the night carrying the remains of the shaman with him.


End file.
